Unthinkable
by Lee Aiden
Summary: With no memory of his true identity, rumors falsely accusing him for turning traitor, a one-billion-dollar bounty on his head and everyone now out for his blood, Taskmaster is slowly coming to realize something- what he doesn't know will surely kill him.


"_I'm-a walking in the rain…"_

**The name's Tony Masters. More commonly known to others as Taskmaster. I like to think of myself as somewhat like a jukebox. Confused? I'll explain why…**

The white-hooded figure sat, slightly hunched over on a barstool, elbows resting on the table in front of him. Due to the shadow being cast, the hood hid the majority of his head- only showing the glint of his eyes and the bottom of his face, though that was slightly hidden by the bowl in front of him, held up by his hands, one cupping the rim and bottom while the other had a pair of chopsticks resting between his thumb, index and middle fingers. Uninterested at the man standing behind the counter that now sported a glare, he let out a low, long sigh. "Fella, what's your damage?" he spoke, a New York accent slightly present in his somewhat irritated voice. "Can't you see I'm trying to get my Del Shannon and Cajun Ramen on?"

The man in front of him let out a huff before drumming his fingers on the table. "Word just came in from the Org, traitor." he spat. The last word of that sentence, especially- though filled with venom, it seemed almost obvious, at least. "One hundred costumed criminals were arrested at the siege of Asgard, Taskmaster… and not one of them was you." Gritting his teeth, the gap in his two front teeth was now visible. "The Org says you work for Steve Rogers now."

At that statement, the man called Taskmaster raised an eyebrow as he popped a piece of shrimp into his mouth via the chopsticks. He seemed to stiffen up, as well. No one could see it, but for a brief moment, he bit his lip. Out of what emotion or instinct, however, was unknown.

"They say they let you free to poison the well-"

The hooded male held up a finger, clicking his tongue as if in disappointment. "You're hurtin' my feelings with these baseless accusations." he started. Placing a finger to his mouth in thought, he tapped his chin while he set the now empty bowl down on the table. "…you Yakuza atone by cutting' off the tips o' your fingers, right?"

Before the second man could reply in apology or fear, the blade of a longsword katana had embedded itself into his hand, slicing off his fingers, and letting out a pained scream.

"Apology accepted."

**Y'see, long as I can remember, I've had something called Photographic Reflexes that let me study a fighter's moves- take the ninja assassin Elektra as a fer instance- and let me copy 'em exactly. In fact, I can just swap in and outta various combat styles. Just like a jukebox. Get it?**

"_Wondering why, why, why, why she ran away…"_

As the blade of the sword was slipped back into the holster on his back, Taskmaster slowly rose from his seat and started for the door, while the fingerless man shouted back at him, "The Org's put a billion dollar bounty on your head, rat! If we don't collect it, someone else will!"

His face forming a scowl, he simply growled and stomped out the door.

"So... a bounty on my head thanks to the Org, huh? Damn."

**Yeah… for those of you who don't know, The Org is an ultra-secret underground criminal organization. For years, I've been using my memorized skills to train gun-thugs for A.I.M., Hydra, The Magga, any and every mob/terrorist organization you can think of… and then, the Org links them all with a steady supply of intel, weapons, lawyers, and my "graduates".**

"What the-?" Just as a group of policemen arrived at the diner where said man had previously been, nearly all the evidence of him even being there had vanished.

Nearly all of it.

The only thing left behind was the long, white hood and cape, burnt orange holster belt, and a series of weapons, which included a katana, a bow with a series of arrows, a shield, and several firearms.

"This is just great… where the hell'd he go?"

Little did they know, that very same man that had left behind these items was now roaming through Tokyo, no one aware of who and what he really was. He just looked like a normal American man.

But looks can be deceiving.

**I'm one of the few people left alive that know the Org exists. If I did manage to judas 'em, I could shut 'em down forever. Whoever framed me knows that, without a doubt. So what I gotta do, is find whoever that is before the Org finds me…**

… **and give 'em some payback that ain't never gonna forget.**


End file.
